Daughters of Spain - Plaidy Jean - Страница 28

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But there was no restraint in Juana. There never had been; she could not begin learning, now that she was face to face with the greatest emotional experience of her life.

She wanted Philip with her every hour of the day and night. She could not hide the burning desire which was like a frenzy. Philip laughed at it. It had been very amusing at first.

Later she feared he was less amused and had begun to avoid her.

There were the mistresses. She could never be sure who was his mistress of the moment. It might be some little lace-maker whom he had seen on his journeys through the dominions, fancied and set up near the Palace that he might visit her. It might be – and so often was – one of the ladies of the Court.

When she saw these women Juana felt near to murder. She wanted to mutilate them in some way so that they would be hideous instead of desirable in his eyes.

There were nights when he did not visit her; when she knew that he was with some mistress. Then she would lie, biting her pillow, weeping passionate tears, giving vent to uncontrolled laughter, forgetting everything but her desire for Philip, the most handsome man in the world.

One of the Flemish women had whispered slyly: ‘He takes his mistress. There are some who would say, if Your Highness took a lover, that you were provoked to it. Perhaps he would.’

‘Take a lover!’ cried Juana. ‘You do not know Philip. What other man could ever satisfy or please me in the smallest way since I have known him!’

They were beginning to say in the Brussels Palace that Juana’s wildness was alarming because it was not merely the fury of a jealous wife. It went deeper than that.

They avoided her eyes whenever possible.

Juana was now finding it difficult to think of her mother far away in Madrid, and this tragedy which had befallen her family. She stared into space trying to remember them all, those wearying days of sitting in the nursery stitching at some tiresome piece of needlework. She remembered being beaten because she had run away when it was time to go to confession.

She laughed aloud at the vague memory. All that was past. Philip would never beat her because she had failed to go to confession. Philip had not a great deal of respect for priests, and life in Brussels was very different from that in Madrid. There was not the same solemnity, the wearying religious services. The rule in Brussels was: Enjoy yourself. The Flemish people, lacking the dignity of the Spaniards, believed they had been put on this Earth to enjoy themselves. It was a doctrine which appealed to Juana.

Everything about Flanders appealed to Juana. It must be so, because Philip was in Flanders.

She was not sure now whether Philip would regard this news from Spain as a tragedy; and if he did not, how could she?

There was another side to Philip’s nature besides his sensuality and his love of gaiety. He was not the son of Maximilian for nothing. He was proud of the possessions which were now his and those greater ones which he would inherit. He had wanted Juana for his bride, before he had seen her, because she was the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand and great good could come to him through union with such an heiress.

Philip was ambitious.

He had been rather pleased, she knew, when he had heard of Juan’s death, and not so pleased when he had heard that there was to be a child.

‘By God, Juana,’ he had cried, ‘now that your brother is dead, who will be the Spanish heir? Tell me that. That sickly sister of yours? The Aragonese are a fierce people. They do not believe women should be their rulers. And quite right too, my love. Quite right too. Do you not agree with me?’

‘Oh yes, Philip.’

He slapped her buttocks jauntily, because it amused him on occasions to treat the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella as though she were a tavern girl.

‘That’s a good girl, Juana. Always agree with your husband. That makes him pleased with you.’

She held her face up to his and murmured his name.

‘By God, woman,’ said Philip, ‘you are insatiable. Later perhaps … if you are a good girl. Listen carefully to what I have to say. If it had not been for this child your brother’s wife is to have, you and I would be Prince and Princess of Castile.’

‘Philip, you would be very pleased then?’

‘I should be very pleased with my little Juana. But now I am not so pleased. If this child is a son … well, then, my little Juana does not bring the same gifts to her doting husband, does she?’

He had caressed her mildly and then had pushed her from him in order to go to one of his mistresses, she felt sure, because he was not pleased with her. A child had been conceived and therefore Philip was not pleased with his wife.

She had cursed Margaret for her fruitfulness. Such a short time married, and already to have conceived a child which Philip did not want! How tiresome of her.

But now there was this news and Philip would be delighted. She must go to him at once.

Before she could leave her apartment there was a knock on her door and a priest entered.

Juana frowned, but this man was Fray Matienzo, a confidential priest whom her mother had sent to Flanders to watch over her daughter; and although Juana was far from Isabella she still remembered the awe in which even she had held her mother.

So she stood impatiently waiting for what the priest had to say to her.

‘Your Highness,’ he began, ‘I have received a letter from the Queen in which she tells me this tragic news which she also imparts to you. The Queen will be very sad.’

Juana said nothing; she was not even thinking of the priest nor of her mother. She was seeing Philip’s fair flushed face, listening to her while she told him the news. She would throw herself into his arms, and he would be so pleased with her that he would forget all those big flaxen-haired women who seemed to give him so much pleasure. He would give all his attention to her.

‘I thought,’ said Fray Matienzo, ‘that you might wish to pray with me for comfort.’

Juana looked bewildered. ‘I do not wish to pray,’ she said. ‘I must go at once. I have something important to do.’

The priest laid a hand on her arm.

‘The Queen, your mother, asks me questions about you.’

‘Then pray answer them,’ she retorted.

‘I fear they might cause her pain if I told her the truth.’

‘What’s this?’ said Juana half-heartedly.

‘If I told her that you did not worship as frequently as you did in Spain, if I told her that you did not go to confession …’

‘I do these things as frequently as my husband does.’

‘That will not serve you as an excuse before God or your mother.’

Juana snapped her fingers; frenzied lights were beginning to show in her eyes. He was detaining her against her will; he was denying her her pleasure. What if Philip heard this news from others before she herself could impart it?

She threw off the priest’s detaining hand.

‘Go your way,’ she said angrily, ‘and let me go mine.’

‘Highness, I implore you to dismiss the French priests who surround you now. Their ways are not ours.’

‘I prefer them,’ she answered.

‘Unless you listen to me, unless you mind your ways, I shall have no alternative but to write to your mother and tell her that you have no true piety.’

Juana snarled at him between her teeth: ‘Then do so. Do what you will, you interfering old fool. I am no longer of Spain. I belong to Flanders and Philip!’

She laughed wildly and ran from the room.

Those attendants who saw her looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. There was little ceremony at the Flemish Court, but no one behaved in quite the same manner as the Infanta Juana. She was more than wild, she was strange, they said.

She found Philip in his apartments. He was sprawled on a sofa, his handsome face flushed. One golden-haired woman sat on a stool at his feet; she was lying back against him, embracing his leg. Another woman, also with brilliant flaxen hair, was fanning him. Someone was strumming on a lute, and men and women were dancing.

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